


INTERLUDE

by TheAnderfelsOne



Series: INTERLUDE... [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Inspired by upcoming fanfiction, Interlude, M/M, forshadowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnderfelsOne/pseuds/TheAnderfelsOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The harbinger of an upcoming story...</p>
            </blockquote>





	INTERLUDE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SerAndersPoutyMouth (nuneenu1)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuneenu1/gifts).



> This is a story for the amazing [SerAndersPoutyMouth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nuneenu1/pseuds/SerAndersPoutyMouth) who got me so inspired by the upcoming epic story she's working on. So you can say this is a fanfiction for an upcoming fanfiction. That's why you might not understand what's going on here which is why it's called an interlude (forshadowing would have also been a good name haha ;)) But the storyboard was so fucking mind-blowing I couldn't help but scribble something about it.
> 
> So I tried to stay true to her background story and some of her details but this is still not the original final thing. This is again just a fanfiction inspired by her own plot, so all credits to her. 
> 
> I had so much fun writing this and I look so much forward to read a dragon age story back again. I guess it has to do with how your evilness understands my evilness about some characters ;) ♥
> 
> So I hope you too enjoy this little piece which is only a harbinger to a much bigger picture she generously agreed for me to share ♥♥

  

 

The Hawkes’ residence is not just a villa or a mansion; it’s an estate. It was the kind of estate you’d mistaken for a chateau. The kind Anders has only seen the interior of in history books and movies.

It’s really so cliché it almost makes him chuckle. The way the ten feet majestic, orlesian iron gates open up on command a good five seconds in advance so the car won’t even have to pause, or the way the front yard looks more like a private wood or a royal garden, or the way he’s actually riding in a long, sleek, black limousine.

He watches as endless greens stream by in the gleaming orange lights of the outdoor lamp posts tracing the path road; the immense pond they cross with his glittering water lilies under the starlight that makes him think he’s on a trip into a forest and not in a simple private residence; the flowery little bridges here and there adorning the already beautiful midnight greenscape - when a large calloused hand falls on his thigh.

Anders pulls his impressed honey eyes from the tinted glass window to look at his side.

“You’re gorgeous,” Garrett Hawke says with a perfect smile.

Anders beams silently for tiny seconds at him. “Thanks, although that wasn’t what was worrying me.”

Garrett squeezes the bit of slack-clad thigh under his hand, “You don’t need to worry, baby, I know you’ll be amazing and in five minutes, I’ll be so proud of you.”

“You mean there’s still five minutes to go before we arrive at the front door?” Anders prompts with playfulness, relaxing under his boyfriend’s praising declarations.

Garrett just turns that playful grin back at him, eyes never leaving Anders’ groomed features.

“I mean maybe we could, I don’t know, tell the driver to do a lopsided turn and park us at the back door. I’m sure you got many other back doors, or a secret passageway.”

 This time Garrett laughs out loud, mirth crinkling his eyes, “You mean you want for this _whole_ limousine to take a _subtle_ turn to the left in front of all the photographers waiting outside and who already spotted us arriving, and appear from the kitchens?”

Anders grins as if this is indeed a delightful plan and Garrett laughs some more before leaning his head and brushing the corner of Anders’ mouth sensually. “I promise things will go naturally. Don’t mind the people, give them you’re your sun-blinding smile with a tinge of smugness and kiss me here and now to blast my ego.”

Anders hums against the words spoken directly against his mouth and darts his tongue to kiss some of them. Garrett does a throaty sound of satisfaction like a purr and indulges the kiss with more nibbling on his part. “Here, relax you’re pretty head.” And he hands the flute of champagne he was sipping from.

Anders accepts the drink and chunk the rest of it in one go. It’s a proof to Garrett of Anders’ actual anxiety. “Good?”

Anders sighs, relishing in the cold fuzziness in the back of his throat and nods more firmly, “Yeah. Better.”

“You know those purple and blue cocktails we had at that weird bar last month? The one served in those sleek long tumblers?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I hired the bartender who makes them. You’ll find him at the open bar.”

“Oh Maker! You mean the guy who named that azure drink after me?” Anders beams like the silver lining of this night has just been found.

Garrett smiles kindly, lovingly - a smile that doesn’t judge genuine delights over fluorescent rainbow cocktails.

“I thought you’d like a familiar face around. You hit it off well with him if I remember.”

Anders laughs heartily, frolicsomely. “Dave was really great. I still can’t believe we were in the same high school! He even remembered me from the school dance club!”

“And I bet he had a man crush on you from where he was playing quarterback.” Garrett muses airily.

Anders chuckles to his flute at the same time the limousine pulls to a final stop.

Garrett leans to kiss Anders on the lips one last time just before the doorman opens the car’s rear door and they’re hit with the first flashes of cameras.

Actually, Anders has no reason to look out of the picture. In fact he stands out as much well groomed and sleek clothed as any of the fancy people shimmying all around him.

But still, he finds himself like a lost puppy in the middle of a lobby the size of a house on its own. Not even _his_ childhood or current house. Not even Garrett's expensive loft.

It’s just too big.

He wants to chunk down his Anders and go back to Dave but… he knows the man is unfortunately too busy for friendly chitchat and too anxious to miss-step around so many wealthy personalities seizing his cocktails like a wine degustation gathering.

So he decides to sip on his blue drink slowly while Garrett went to... went somewhere.

“Anders?”

Anders turns a sliver too abruptly upon hearing his name and it’s so weird someone recognizes him in the middle of much more recognizable people that he almost chokes on bright blue liquor.

Thankfully he whips his head on a familiar face. “Ah, Garrett.”

Garrett is standing straight like an iron rod, handsome features, coarse black beard that add to his ruggedness, and inky black hair fashionably combed but still windswept in its authentic signature of wayward and unyielding - much to his character’s credits.

“Anders,” and he gestures behind him where two people stand, “I want you to meet my parents.”

Anders’ eyes widen in a speechless _oh_ but Garrett is already speaking again. “This is my father Malcolm Hawke,” he points out and Anders’ eyes flicker humbly towards the introduced man so to not be rude. And the eyes he meets make him clap his mouth shut in a thin line because he’s suddenly too conscientiously aware that his tongue may be blue. 

Malcolm Hawke. Of course he heard of him. Elected most successful entrepreneur and business man of the year three times in a row by the top three economic news papers of the Marches and Ferelden and in the top five of the most rich and handsome men in a Forbes magazine. Even his shareholders are notorious and famous. Just being able to host a senatorial fundraiser in the name of most liked senate candidate so far bespeak volumes of the man’s proxy.

Malcolm Hawke has an inch or two less than Garrett, but his stance makes it look like it’s made on purpose. As black haired too, although his is more painstakingly pomaded backwards it’s almost scary to look at - and also clean shaved, making Anders mutely mourn his stubbled cheeks. Anders can’t figure the shade of his eyes because they’re as dark as his son, but if eye-colors weren’t an irrefutable DNA gene, Anders would have truly believed the man chose that shade designingly.

The blond man doesn’t have time to subtly scrutinize further because Malcolm quickly extends a large, calloused hand. 

“Pleased to meet you, Anders.” His voice is black and rich like the tux he’s wearing but what catches Anders is how his voice curls darkly around his name as if tasting the texture and the price value of it. 

Anders’ hand is dwarfed in his and the handshake is firm and business-like but expends just a fleeting seconds longer and the way these eyes keep eye-contact make Anders think for a spine shivering instant that Malcolm has just done more scrutinizing of his own than Anders has been able to do more openly and probably will be able to do throughout the rest of the night.

The man finally let go of his hand eloquently and graces him with a smile any journalist or paparazzi milling about would have killed to capture and put on his next cover magazine.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hawke. It’s such an honor… Really.”

 _Really?_ Anders’ brain chides him and he kicks himself internally for sounding like his vocabulary is reduced to words learned in middle school. He blushes even though he mortifyingly _knows_ it won’t go unnoticed by these bottomless eyes too.

“And this is my mother, Leandra,” Garrett continues next to him, gesturing to a sparkling dressed woman who’s svelte silhouette and long brown curls pulled into a complicated hairdo make her look half her age whatever that number is.

Anders frets for a heartbeat moment if he should kiss the knuckles of her currently expending hand or something. Thankfully when he takes her hand in his, she initiates a fluid handshake and Anders finishes the motion with some small hand-shaking of his own. “A pleasure,” she says smoothly with a discreet red-lipstick smile and soft sky blue eyes. Anders finally knows from where Garrett got that hued tinge of blue freckling his piercing dark eyes when he’s at kissing distance.

Anders smiles more comfortably, but still tries to show no teeth. “Glad to meet you Mrs. Hawke. Your house is fascinating,” he replies as sweetly.

“Thank you, dear,” she intones with a twinge of genuine delight.

Garrett falls to stand next to him and their shoulders brush intimately. Anders feels suddenly obligated to say something else and tries his hand at addressing Garrett’s father again. He doesn’t want to appear dull or worse, a waste of time.

“And this party is not short of perfect Mr. Hawke, I’m so honored to be part of such a significant political event.”

“My wife holds all the credits. Our senator candidate is a friend of mine, I just offered to host his fundraise and he generously accepted. The party is all her doing, truly.” Malcolm says smoothly, mentioning with his hand to Leandra standing beside him.

She chuckles modestly but still harbors a complacent look. “Oh it wasn’t such a hassle honestly, once you get accustomed to hosting big parties and events, it becomes like another habit. A very enjoyable one, that is.”

“Well, it’s…” Anders flails for tiny seconds for rich, expensive adjectives, but it feels too protracted and Malcolm and Leandra Hawke are watching and judging with expecting eyes.

“Gorgeous,” he finally unleashes through a too large thin lipped smile and a wish to knock back his blue cocktail with its ice cubes.

“Thank you,” Leandra nods amicably and in the same time, a woman in a bright, long cocktail dress brushes past her and pauses with a large grin.

“Leandra!”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Leandra says with a smiling nod and turns to acknowledge the woman who quickly lean to brush cheeks with her as greeting.

“I have guests to attend to as well,” Malcolm says in his turn. His eyes move swiftly between his son and the blond, the inexistent space between them and his son’s hand wrapped around Anders’ waist, “Again, pleased to meet you. Enjoy the party.” and smiles good-naturally - mostly to Anders before giving Garrett an undecipherable glance which the blond man fails to catch on.

When they’re finally alone, Anders let out a gigantesque sigh and takes a big lump of his drink that the ice in it collides with his mouth.

Garrett chuckles beside him. “All right?”

“No?”

“I felt how tense you were but honestly babe, there was no need to be. You were… _gorgeous_ ,” Garrett parrots sarcastically and Anders tosses him a look.

“No shit, the whole time I was thinking about one thing: If my tongue is blue.”

Garrett throws his head back in laughter and put an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders, “Oh baby,” he nudges him even closer until black is plastered on black and Anders grapples on Garrett’s lapels for leverage because Garrett has him slightly bent backwards. Then the bigger man leans to steal a kiss there in the middle of the crowd making Anders’ heart stutters with pleasure and excitement.

“You _are_ gorgeous. Mmm— and you make my cock ache,” he drawls erotically between Anders parted lips, “ _Right now._ ”

Anders has to suppress an inadequate moan but he can’t do the same for the shudder that runs down his back. “Please I’m trying to hold at least an eloquent silent composure and you’re blowing my only stratagem away,” he mumbles halfheartedly against the ongoing-bent-backwards kiss.

“Please, we can do it right here and now and people will look more interested than offended,” Garrett bemuses.

“And steal the senator’s spotlights?”

“He’s not a senator yet.”

They both chuckle at that and detach themselves at last with one last deep kiss and some hasty limb-fondling.

When Garrett looks up though, his eyes quickly catch something that holds his attention amidst the crowd and circling waiters.

“Carver, Bethany.” He doesn’t call out but his voice is deep and strong enough that it does the job just fine.

A young man with an opened suit jacket and no tie approach them followed by a girl in a slightly up the knee-long, body-fitting black dress. Her cleavage is subtle and hidden behind a thin layer of black lace, pearls and glitter.

When they’re finally at arm's reach, Anders notices that the girl is tanner than her companion.

“Garrett,” the girl acknowledges in a way that leaves Anders surprised because it’s the first time since he got here that he hears someone call Garrett by his first name so… casually.

“Good thing I found both of you at once, I want you to meet someone,” he says and the last words are spoken with a twinge of fond amusement.

Anders stays still and close to Garrett. He shifts his eyes to look at him then at the two strangers.

“This is Carver and Bethany, my little brother and sister.” Then he points with his head towards Anders, “And this is Anders, my boyfriend.”

Three pairs of different eye-color bulge simultaneously and two different kind of _oh_ resonates, though Bethany’s outmatches Anders’ in sound.

“Oh, boyfriend you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, p—pleased to meet you,” the blond man’s replies politely with a sweet albeit timid smile.

“I didn’t know you had someone,” Bethany inquires again, but not in a rude way. She gives Anders a curious-sibling stare.

“Now you do.” Is Garrett’s curt reply.

“Well, nice to meet you, Anders,” she says with a wary smile but the rest of her features are still iffy.

“Nice to meet you too,” Anders tries to sound pleasant but it doesn’t erase her dubious expression or the quite stricken look on her brother that doesn’t arrange his case.

“So what do you do in your life, Anders?” Bethany says, breaking the silence before it settles too awkwardly.

“Oh, I’m, well I’m a physician’s assistant in Highever’s Medical Center,” Anders responds quite humbly.

“Oh! Impressive.”

“And may I ask about you?” He musters all the friendliness he can manage into that sentence while hoping it’s not inappropriate. Why would it be inappropriate, he tosses back her own question. Maybe it’s not the same, maybe it’s impolite, oh Maker he hopes it’s the same—

“I work in fashion design and haute couture. Sewing has always been a passion,” she answers with a smile which is improving in amiability.

“And Carver is a cop in the Highever police Department,” Supplies Garrett, since it seems like it’s natural for the brother to stay still and unresponsive like a rock all along. For a fraction of seconds, Anders _does_ actually wonder if Carver doesn’t have some handicap and even starts to feel bad for him. He does go for one last communication-attempt.

“Please to meet you,” he says softly with his most polite tilt of head, and holds the man’s gaze with the smile he practiced in front of the mirror before Garrett made him stop by telling him his smile was already perfect and then took him right there in the bathroom to prove a point - but that’s extraneous right now.

But then the man opens his mouth and his voice is finally made to be known. He does have a voice and he can make out syllables together, Anders notes with relief.

“Likewise.”

A single word it is. But clear enough for Anders to underscore a peculiar difference between his lover and his brother’s undertone. There is a deep smokiness mixed with a certain slow guardedness that Anders ponders must have to do with being a cop.

His eyes are summer sky-blue unlike Garrett and just like their mother. Bethany has the same dark shade as Garrett and it’s odd since later on, Anders is told they’re actual twins.

Then Carver’s reticent posture crumbles slowly and he regards Anders with a slow quietness that smooth his handsomely spruced features while Bethany engages Anders in a brief, polite small chat.

Anders answers one of her questions with a small chuckle and a sip of his favorite beverage and it’s in that moment - when Anders tips his head back to swallow azure liquid, that he catches the same tint of blue gazing at him silently. Anders swallows with a sliver of tenseness around his throat as he wonders if it’s also a cop thing. But it doesn’t stop Anders from giving the man his most polite, ambers-crinkling tiny smile, and it makes those blue orbs widen in mute surprise under glittering lights.

Anders then turns back to where he has left the conversation and what he doesn’t know is how the young cops’ breath has caught in that eye-smiling second.

“So did you see dad?” Carver cut off in the middle of a non-quite finished sentence by Anders. Garrett turns to him and as the brothers’ eyes meet, they fully know what that question really means.

“Yeah, just a few minutes ago, I introduced Anders to him and mom,” Garrett responds coolly and something unfathomable passes between the two men. “I think he made a good impression.” And he squeezes Anders’ waist towards him while saying so, making the latter blush into both the intimate nudge and the compliment.

“I see,” Is the black haired cop’s grumbled reply. His eyes flick to the fingers tightly protruding from the blond man’s hip and it makes his mouth narrows and twitches almost nastily.

 

Long after that, the siblings has scattered off to their occupations and Garrett has left Anders’ side with the promise of returning soon.

 _“I’m going to see to that congressman over there and use the opportunity to talk a little business matter now that he’s graciously_ sozzled _,”_ Garrett has snarked with a quick kiss to Anders’ lips.

It left Anders standing in the middle of too much glitter, trying most of the time to avoid stepping on some woman’s long, dragging dress and resulting in avoiding walking at all.

He’s currently standing in the backyard, with its gargantuan pool bathed in subdued orange lights and its tropical palms that reflects on the aquamarine water. There are polished stones and an extra grassy area around a small waterfall in a corner, another big buffet and lounge sofas under a large covered patio already monopolized by a bunch of dandy ladies enjoying the midnight breeze with their canapés.

Standing by the translucent water of the swimming pool with another of Dave’s fantasies, Anders feels like he’s in a tropical resort; if he overlooks the fancy suit and the spruced up hair and neatly groomed face, he may also think he’s on vacation in some exotic residence. A very expensive exotic residence.    

But his thoughts of tropical landscapes are interrupted by a shuffling close to him and a soft _ahem._

“So, you work in the Highever's Medical Center?”

Anders turns to face baby blues and Carver Hawke.

“Oh, hey,” Anders says with ease and some dreaminess judging by his still dazed smile. 

“Anders, right,” the cop says with some foot-shuffling.

“Yes, no worries, it’s not a common name, I won’t blame you if you forget it,” the blond jests gently and quickly follows, “And yes, I mean, about working in the hospital.”

Carver takes an open moment to stare at him but Anders briskly cut any ice that may form between them in the next upcoming seconds. Because ever since Garrett has left his side, Anders hasn’t spoken to anyone else and his mind is currently starting to alarmingly consider hiding in the bathroom with a plate of whisked tiramisu from how much he feels awkward and not belonging. “So! Um, you’re a police-man that’s right? That’s admirable.”

Carver blinks. “Yeah. Downtown’s police station.”

Anders’ eyes go round like saucers and exclaims, “Downtown?! That’s where the memorial of Highever is!”

Carver tips his head to the side, “Yeah, I know. I’m in the special victim unit. We tend to do a lot of patrols there, you probably know why.” 

“Oh Maker, I work with the victims of that side of town too, the abused, the left for dead, there isn’t a week I don’t end up picking up someone beaten up off the sidewalk,” He pauses and then adds, “Unfortunately…” with a small desolate tone.

Something passes through Carver’s features and stay plastered there for a while. Amazement at the surprising similarity of their jobs and something to do with how Anders’ amber eyes flashes with glee then dimes almost too quickly for Carver to catch his stolen breath because Anders is like a shot of sunlight in the night-sky.

He has positively gleamed inside the house, beneath all the fake lightning and glitter. But here, outdoors, standing beside the orange-white underwater gleams of the pool, the man is just… mesmerizing.

It struck Carver’s tongue while his mind fuzzes with questions, worries, something saccharine and more worries. It makes him hems for a moment, but jars himself off that spiral of thoughts when he sees Anders’ guileless expression and his pale cheeks just this side of a lovely pinked shade. It gives him something to inquire about and change the tasteless, morose topic of their new found analogous line of work.

“What’s you’re drinking?” he asks with an arched brow at the cocktail glass in Anders’ hand.

Pools of honey jolt upward and widen at attention. “Oh, this? It’s a blueberry cheesecake martini.” And Anders grins appreciatively so at it.

“Come again?”

“A blueberry—”

“I heard you. I was wondering if that was a real thing.” Carver raises a genuine questioning eyebrow, albeit with bemusement curving his lips.

“Uh, well yes, um—my friend at the bar inside made it.”

“You know the barman?”

“Yes, an old acquaintance from high school; Garrett hired him so I don’t feel like a complete stranger in the middle of strangers,” Anders responds with jocular humor.

Carver takes another glance at him and sees how Anders is actually slightly fidgeting with the long stemware of his glass, shuffling with his feet, his eyes glancing sideways, not seeming to find exactly what they’re looking for - and it dawns on Carver that Anders doesn’t belong to this kind of context he’s been inserted in. He doesn’t have a social status to his name to attend such a political event if it wasn’t for Garrett who brought him along.

What is he doing here is now somehow answered.

What someone like him is doing with his brother is the next million dollar crackpot question.

The how and why are still abstruse to him, but the indelible fact of what they are chills his insides.

And all the emotions that fluttered in his chest before leave space to another feeling creeping up his veins.

Worry. So potent he may actually vomit.

“No need to sweat about this whole phony, cooked night full of faux-eloquence and posers.” Carver wave off with a twist of his lips to an explicitly startled Anders.

The blond scrabbles his jaw from where it has fell on the shiny grass. And then, Carver watches as the blond’s mouth twitches upwards, and hesitantly curves into a candid straight-toothed grin board enough that Carver gets a glimpse of one sharp premolar in his upper jaw that gives the blond physician a sexy, puppy-predatory charm.

Anders chuckles. “I see you’re not a fan yourself.”

Carver rolls an eye at a group of suited men guffawing out loud about what is more likely to be how they bargained the price of their last acquired yacht. “No.” Then turns to Anders, “Don’t let them make you feel inferior with their fake pretenses. Most of them are just air-brained beneath their glittery dresses.”

Anders’ eyes are still wide with awe as he seems positively fascinated and involved to that new outlook and his smile seems to loosen more with each word Carver uses to despise the community surrounding them. And Carver watches as these blond features turns into something new. A malicious, unspoken agreement. Another thing alike between them that make Anders relaxes his stiff limbs as if he can finally start to enjoy the night.

And it’s all there in how his sparkling amber-eyes already begin to dance.

A smirk. “Is that why you’re not wearing a tie or why you’re wearing a holster?”

That takes Carver by surprise better than anything so far since the party begun. He takes in Anders - his smirk, his cheesecake whatever drink lounging luxuriously between his long fingers smirking at him too, and Carver reconsiders the whole night anew.

“Yes and… yes. I didn’t think you’d pay attention.”

“I see enough in that common place we go to work in,” Is the effortless shrugging response. “You don’t button your suit jacket to scare off the… _air-brained posers_?” And Anders shouldn’t seriously smirk like that.

Really. Shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. Carver hopes he doesn’t do it on regular basis.

The cool breeze washes between them in a whoosh of dank air and neither of their hair fluff with it. It’s like they’re in a movie and hairdressers are fussing over them between cuts to make the moment idealistically perfect. 

“That’s the implicit reason.” And Carver tosses his first laid-back smirk. Because he can if that’s what the blond man wants.

“You want a taste?” Anders says to him.

“Huh?”

“From my drink. You want to try a sip?”

“Ah, um, I don’t know, fruity cocktails aren’t exactly my poison.” Carver offers softly, eying the glass like a suspect about to take off.

“Come on! You can’t judge it if you never tried it!” Anders graphically bounces on the ball of his heels. His face is a picture of rebirth enthusiasm and Carver thinks he seriously needs an advance warning for those brutal changes of expressions or he’ll end up chocking on his own breath at this state.

“Uh.” Then baby blues meet ambers gleaming gold with all the lightning in the pool and the outdoor lamps.

He has already caved when Anders coaxes, “What’s a sip? I won’t even give you the blueberries in the cocktail pick.”

“Okay.”

Anders hands the martini glass and they brushes fingers so casually it’s almost irrelevant. Carver takes a sip and doesn’t know why he keeps eye-contact behind the rim and why Anders holds it with no shortness of intensity.

It last a sipping moment.

“Hm. It’s strong, a little too fruity but not bad. I like.” The cop hands back the glass with a pleased smile.

“See? It’s not that bad in the end!” Anders exuberantly gloats as if he made the drink himself.

“How come you’re not tipsy yet?”

“Who said I wasn’t?” And at that, there’s a sudden exchange of surreptitious eye-contact that’s almost boarding on wicked.

Anders is just unbelievable. And Carver ends up laughing soundly for the first time since the evening started.

“You should try the Anders. It’s stronger. Vodka and tequila with an ounce of secret sweetness.”

Carver’s smile says ‘like you’. “ _T_ _he Anders_?”

The blond chuckles and ducks his head in a show of modesty. “Yeah, Dave named it after me - I mean the guy at the bar inside—you know, the one Garrett hired because we went to the same high school?”

“Yeah, I remember well.” The black haired man smiles playfully. Anders is positively floating. Floating on blueberries flavors.

Carver looks around him and doesn’t even know how much time has passed since he spotted the blond man alone and approached him. He gazes up and sees a starry sky and a peek of a round moon behind dark clouds.

“How did you meet Garrett?”

A smile draws on luscious red lips. “At the hospital. He came asking for a man I saved from the streets a month before. A worker of his, he read about him in the new papers the day after - yeah I was in the new papers,” he chuckles again, mirthful. “He came to ask about him and left a rather generous donation for the hospital,” He relates with such fondness as if it just happened yesterday.

Garrett giving away a charity check? Visiting a worker? What _worker_ anyway? “So uh, how long have you been together?”

“Three months—I know I told him it’s too early to introduce me to his family… I knew what kind of important family he had but just wouldn’t have it. He said now or the morning after our first date, it’s all the same for him,” he laughs and shakes his head, “Maker, he knows how to win someone over, huh?”

Carver takes in Anders guileless features and wants to wince and punch something. His brother for instance. Carver has never actually cared for his brother’s hook ups. He never cared for his love life nor his professional life built on the back of their father. ‘The family business’ they call it. But he always thought Garrett will end up with some puny, trophy wife whose only job will be to look pretty for press pictures and business dinners.

Bur to drag someone like Anders into their fucked up family? Someone so sweet and ingenuous. Someone so… wholesome. At least he can see what his big brother has seen in the man. What was beyond him was what _Anders_ has seen in his brother.

Yes, he likes his brother. He’s family and will always be. But it doesn’t mean he has to respect him. And it doesn’t mean he does not despise him. Him and his line of work and his ruthlessness and Malcolm Hawke who wrought him upon his hands.

“You met my father?”

Anders is in the middle of a draught from his almost empty glass now and takes a blueberry in his mouth. “Yes, such a striking man. Very imposing. I was so ashamed of my fluorescent blue drink!” Anders let loose a chortle but composes himself as if remembering where he was standing.

Carver for the first time since he accosted his brother’s lover takes a step forwards into the respectful space left between them. His eyes lose all blitheness when he says “Beware of them. Garrett and also my father; there’re not… often good people,” Carver sugarcoats his words cautiously. He knows it won’t make sense to Anders. Not when he’s currently dazzled by all the extravagance and the medias surrounding his mighty last name. 

He doesn’t give Anders much time to recover from his suddenly taken aback expression when he says “Give me your cell.”

“Wh—what?” Anders’ eyes round.

“Come on, gimme your cell phone.”

“Uh, why?”

“I won’t take off with it, Maker!” Carver grouses with stretch a hand, making grabby motions with his fingers.

Anders’ eye him warily but is in the process of fetching the phone from his slack’s pocket. He puts it in the cop’s waiting palm.

Carver turns on the screen and inwardly snorts at the lack of password. After a few seconds, he hands it back to its owner. “I registered my phone number. Just… in case.”

“In case what?”

“In case something happens. I’m a cop after all, right?”

Because you’re dating someone dangerous, Carver’s baby blues scream inwardly at him. 

“So,” Malcolm Hawke’s voice undertones archly as Garrett shuts the door of the study behind them and turns around. His father is already pouring himself a glass of scotch from the crystalline decanter lounging on the large wooden desk.

Malcolm’s office is situated on the first floor and from its floor-to-ceiling windows covered with creamy drapes you can see a good part of the lobby in which the party is lively taking part. Malcolm glances down at it for a minute coolly then tears his gaze away to land it on his son, currently standing casually in the center of the room. He’s been in here too many times throughout his life to feel intimidated by the darkly luxurious and extensive wood paneled home office.

There is a sitting area with two brown leather armchairs in front of a large marble fireplace, built-in wood bookshelves in front of a large, antic dark-wooden desk and a wooden vaulted ceiling. The place oozes rich and powerful and plainly Malcolm Hawke.

“Arm-candy or boyfriend?”

Garrett smiles a notch. “Boyfriend.”

“Hmm,” Malcolm takes a sip and swirls the tumbler around his fingers. “Very tall. Very _blond_ ,” he assess with a smirk. Garrett smiles. “Fine bone structure,” he adds with another swill.

Garrett snorts.

“You’re into him?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t waste your time otherwise.”

“Oh,” Malcolm chuckles warmly, “But I didn’t know you were into the clumsy blushing type, Garrett.”

Garrett pulls a fond face and just says nothing. Those adjectives are true after all.

“What does he do?” Malcolm enchains the direct questions with a pacifist tone.

Garrett is also quick to oblige. “A physician’s assistant at the Highever’s Medical Center.”

“Oh! Smart too,” his father intones with genuine surprise. “Intelligence has always been one of your turn ons. But those features… he’s not from here, right?”

“No. He’s from the Anderfels. Born there.”

Malcolm smirks to himself and regards his son from under his black lashes and smolder gaze, “I knew it - Mother Anderfels, that whole fuckable pale blondness make sense now.”

Garrett stays silent.

Malcolm ambles towards him and even though Garrett has scraped a few inch on him by his full adult growth, he still feels like Malcolm is the one towering over him.

It’s just an inner thing.

“I bet he’s all rangy limbs beneath that suit, huh?” Malcolm entices with a slick tone close to Garrett’s suit-clad shoulder as he circles him. “He’s all soft bones, I could sense it from his handshake, how his long fingers and slim wrist-bone felt.”

“I see you did enough inspection from that handshake alone. You don’t even need my input.”

Malcolm levels him with arched eyebrow, too somber to decipher his inner thoughts. “I did it because you don’t often introduce your fuck toys to me.”

It makes Garrett’s lips twitch at the skanky label but just that and the father notices it too. “I wanted to know if the merchandise you’ve been flaunting the whole night’s worth the price. And the trouble. What about his family?” This time the teasing humor he started with left his tone and the words are plain and clipped.  

“Average. Actually a little below average.  Nothing big.”

“You met them?”

“His father’s an alcoholic and his mother’s the sweet loving type. They are no longer together. I only met his mother. Made sure we stumble on her at the supermarket.” He skims over the big brother who has run in with the law even though he works in the judicial system himself. And who’s also a wary and pretty tough guy with a bit of an overprotective side towards his baby bro. 

His father can know the rest of the details another day.

Malcolm is back near his desk and leans his body against it while filling another glass. He’s not looking at his son when he says “You love him?” But turns his head to scrutinize the expression his son will make when he’ll answer.

And the answer flows easily and earnestly off Garrett’s tongue. “Yeah.”

Malcolm surveys with something close to incredulous fascination as his son’s features soften significantly.

“Yeah, I’m in love with him.”

“You got it bad, son.” Malcolm gauges in a playful jeering tone.

“I think I do. I… I never met anyone like him. And you know I’ve met a lot.”

“I do.”

“He makes me feel what head over heels actually means and in fact, I plan on popping the question tonight.” Garrett informs with utter steadiness and his father’s perfect eyebrows do a swopping up.

“Really? You know that’s not something to take lightly.”

“I know, I just… it’s eating at my head for a long time and I suppose that’s as a good sign as any.”

Malcolm stays silent for a while, drinking his expensive scotch and seizing up his son and his decision both at once.

“You know the rules, Garrett. You got to preserve the family’s name. I don’t want it to get dragged in the mud in divorce papers and bad press. We’re already in the viewfinder of many corporations that just wait for us to make the slip to do more than barking.”

“Please dad, I haven’t yet popped the question and you’re already talking divorce papers. Can’t you be cheerful a little?” Garrett teases, flopping on a plump armchair with legs spread wide.

Malcolm shares with him a father-son identical smile and the mood is quickly warming up again around the hard woodened study. He fills another glass. “I shall leave the cheerfulness to you, but I like him. What does he likes? Scotch or brandy?”

“Brandy. I thought he’d be you’re type too. You know, the sexy type.” Garrett grins.

Malcolm hums, going to his cabinet. “Sexy indeed, it’s been a while since a man didn’t make me want to fuck hard. I bet he’s the whole package too, huh, Garrett?”

Garrett sprawls all over the armchair and muses, “You have no idea.”

“I know that kind of people. All Blushes on the outside and whores behind closed doors.” Malcolm folds his hand on the neck of a round bottle of warm brandy and start to fill a cut crystal tumbler, eyeing Garrett with a devious smirk, “I bet it’s a good look on him.”

This one Garrett doesn’t respond to, yet he can’t suppress the sly smile creeping up his lips at the mere retaliation. But he still feels the need to defend his lover’s honor.

“He moved in with me after just a couple of dates, so I guess there’s more to him than his prowess in bed.” He pauses, links his fingers atop his stomach, cants his head towards the vaulted ceiling and the chandelier with a distant look on his dark eyes and adds on a side note and to no one in particular, “He volunteers at a children' dance group…”

Malcolm stares at his son – his legacy, with a knowing smile. “He’s the one.”

Garrett grins proudly to the vault, “Yes. I think he is.”

“He knows what business you take care of on the side too?”

“Just what’s on the business card.”

“Which isn’t much.” Malcolm replies sardonically.

Malcolm rounds on his desk, open a drawer, all his movements an indolent sureness. As if he knows every motion he does is worth more than what’s on his official bank account. Garrett is the same, learned the art of walking like he own every cobblestone he step on - only with less calculating sleekness and more rugged heftiness.  

Garrett watches from his peripheral vision as his father and best confident - the man who made him what he is - uncorks a small vial with something powdery white inside. He watches silently as deft fingers incline the vial over the glass - the brandy glass - and tip out some of the shiny powder in the golden liquid before stirring in it with a ringed finger.

Malcolm advances on him with a drink on each hand. He looks like a dangerous man. black pomaded hair pushed back, fair skin with not a single imperfection; only a very faint old scar he carries perpetually that runs over one black eyebrow and the side of his left eye.

A souvenir delivered by Leandra Hawke.

Malcolm Hawke hands over the drinks as Garrett stands up. “This one’s for you, and this one is for the lovely Anders.” Garrett stares at how his lover’s name sounds so concupiscent between his father’s lips then at the no longer innocent drink.

“Just remember, Garrett; you’re my legacy. I raised you to be top dog. I’m happy that you found love and that beautiful boy looks good at your arm but don’t forget the rules. And don’t forget the suite always open for when you feel like a change of sheath for your cock.”

“I don’t think I’ll need it anymore, trust me.”

Malcolm smiles and pats his cheek once, “You’re a good boy. I think you left your boyfriend by himself long enough. How about you hand him this, and then give him the,” Malcolm swiftly grabs Garrett’s crotch confined in his black slacks and smirks from under his smoldering dark, dark eyes, an inch away from Garrett’s face,

“ _Big tour._ ”


End file.
